Ladies and gentlemen, this is the beginning of what I am choosing to call my grand experiment. I am going to break pretty much all the 'good' rules of writing a setting, and see what comes out. I am going to write a story, and make up everything as I go along, with perhaps only an overarcing vision of where I want to go. As I go, I will generate notes and interpretations of what's going on, and in the end, shake it down in order to create a coherent setting from the story material.

Ready? Here we go.

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Prologue.

Crack! A sharp sound in the evening sun, the rain of splinters from above, the hissing of breath through her own dry mouth filled Melana's senses, the hot grind of sand across the soles of her feet, digging into her knee, enough to hurt, to bleed, welling up in a dark red contrast to the faint greenness of her skin. There! Sharp, pointed ears could hear the beginning of a rumbling, and it was now or never. Taking to her feet, Melana hissed out one more cooling breath before ducking around one of the crates that surrounded her, two wild shots from the Ruechester pistol in her hand thundering in discouragement of her pursuit through the cargo yard. Wide of their mark, they still served their purpose, gaining her the precious seconds she needed to dash forth onto the platform after the departing steam caravan, to make her leap for the wheeled boxes as they were pulled along the ribbons of steel. A desperate prayer to the spirits, and she felt their hands lift her as she launched herself at the device, and then nothing but the gritty surface of the car beneath her hands, beneath her feet. She had made it, and the wind spirits had answered her. As the woman yanked open the door and ducked inside, more splinters would shower her, and as she slumped to the dark floor inside the cargo car, she sighed in relief, for no pursuer could possibly make the leap now. The rough wood was cool against her bare skin, from shoulders to heels, and that, she welcomed, for the sun, she knew, had nearly baked her alive.

A moment, to take stock of the remaining ammunition in the five-shooter. One. One measly shot-filled shell, the rest gone, and not another object in the world was hers. Another sigh, this one of disappointment, cut short by the rumbling of her stomach. Two days without food or water, only light to sustain her, and now darkness to make the hunger worse. Melana would need to eat soon, she knew this. And more importantly, drink. There might be something, if passengers were aboard the train. But for that, she would need clothing, of any kind...

Claketa-claketa-claketa-shooooosh-squeal! The brakes of the steamer called out their protests as the caravan rolled into the great northern city's station, while the voice of the conductor bellowed through the cars as he strode along them. "-is the final destination of the Northern Star, all passengers must disembark!"

Jostled and awoken at last, Melana began to stir, blinking as her eyes darted about in half-panic, looking around first at her surroundings, then herself. Clothing? But.. Ah, yes. She'd stolen it from some bit of luggage, and tied and cut it to do little more than protect what the humans called 'decency'. Silly things, trying to protect themselves from the spirits of the sun and sky. Denim and cotton rustled against her skin as she finally manged to stand, beneath the silly grin of the conductor. She rolled her eyes at him, "Just let me off, and I won't ask nothing else."

"Aww, shucks. We barely got to know each other." The conductors grin bordered on the lewd, before she simply shouldered her way past the taller man, her hand grazing the holster at her hip almost suggestively. One to catch a hint, the conductor turned, and continued on his bellowing route towards the front of the train once more, leaving Melana to stride off of the caravan.

It was with a step close to a dance that she made her way onto the platform, and into the sunlight, to the bemused chuckles of more than a few onlookers. Uncaring enough to bother with signs of embarassment, she twirled once, holding up her hands towards the sun, before heading for the dusty streets, clouds of the baked street rising with every step, somehow even more so than around the humans. Yes, even the streets had their spirits, she saw, and they were eager to tell their tale to anyone who was capable of listening. The streets, the buildings, and, there should be... yes, there it was!

A huge fountain in the center of a plaza, one who's cool tinkling had called her from the moment the sounds of the steamer had silenced, and one whose spirits she was most eager to converse with. But as she stepped out into the plaza, a strange dread overtook her, one which was nameless until she heard the voice of the creature who stood by the fountain, booming forth his message to all who would hear. Enormous he was, towering well over three of her strides in height, and two in breadth, only made more imposing by bulked, powerful muscle flexing beneath gravelly, texured skin, his bald head seeming to soak in the light above.

"Know ye! Know ye that the Word and Chaos would have this world for their own, and that thy ancestral servants serve only the path of chaos! It shall bleed ye dry and shatter thy cities, and it shall hand it down to those such as her!" His voice rising by the syllable, his enormous hands came up to point towards Melana, a terrible, accusing gesture, one to penetrate, to pierce her very soul.

"W-Wha...?" This little bit of a word was all that Melana could tumble between her lips as the mob turned to stare at her, her half-naked body suddenly trembling with something close to dread...